


Frozen Paths

by Lillian



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4659549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian/pseuds/Lillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The discovery of a peculiar book has far-reaching consequences for the rulers of Cair Paravel, whether they're aware of it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Paths

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ygrainette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ygrainette/gifts).



By the time Edmund came down to the dining hall everyone else had already finished with breakfast. It was just as well. He had been poring over a diplomatic missive till the early hours of the morning and now he felt tired, lazy and disinclined to make polite conversation. A couple of slices of toast and a cup of honeyed tea revived him somewhat, but he still didn't feel up to riding out into the woods with Lucy, as he'd promised. It was supposed to be an apology, of sorts, for neglecting her these past few days. Edmund sighed, and rubbed at his temples to ward off the beginnings of a headache. He intended to keep his word, even if the prospect of being jostled for hours on horseback in a damp forest didn't fill him with enthusiasm.

Lucy would understand if he excused himself, of course, but the thought of disappointing her made Edmund curiously uneasy. He'd done enough of that, he felt, for one lifetime.

The sudden din of thunder made him raise his head sharply. It had been a pleasant enough morning, and now all of a sudden it turned dark outside and already the first fat raindrops were drumming against the panes and the copper fittings on the windowsills. Edmund walked over to a window and peered up at the sky, frowning. Heavy, tin-colored clouds hung overhead, seemingly unmoving despite the wind that rattled the glass in the window frames. Soon it started raining in earnest, and then the rain turned into a positive downpour.

Edmund leaned against the wall, still watching the deluge outside. Lightning flashed again, closely followed by thunder. It had fallen near then. Such sudden changes of weather weren't usual in Cair Paravel in this season. Still, this definitely made going outside out of the question.

Thus Edmund went in search of Lucy, aiming to express his - ever so earnest - regret that their excursion would have to be postponed for another day. Lucy, however, was not in the stable seeing to her favourite horse like Edmund had expected. She wasn't in the kitchen being consoled by Mrs. Beaver, either. Susan, engrossed in a debate about the practical merits of some new fletching-making technique with a group of the castle's armourers, absent-mindedly informed him that she had no idea where Lucy was. Peter was of course still away investigating a werewolf sighting, and as such would not be any help either.

Deciding that if Lucy couldn't be found she was probably quite happily occupied somewhere, Edmund abandoned his search for his errant sister and headed for the library. A large, high-ceilinged room with a labyrinthine arrangement of bookcases, it was Edmund's usual refuge on rainy days when he had little official business. He fully intended to spend his morning reading up on naval battles, ship construction, and sea trade routes' establishment. He collected the required volume from its shelf in the centre of the room, then plopped down onto the nearest reading chair and prepared to delve in.

Which was when Lucy's quiet laugh sounded from the corner of the library.

Edmund cocked his head in surprise. Lucy wasn't very fond of the library and would much rather read books curled into a window seat in her bedroom. A delighted gasp carried over the patter of the rain, and that too was unmistakably Lucy. Edmund abruptly got up to investigate, leaving the heavy history volume behind.

He veered around a curved row of bookcases, then another, followed a narrow path lined with etiquette manuals, and there, by the windows, found Lucy. Her legs were slung carelessly over the armrest of another reading chair, her back turned so she could take full advantage of the light. In her hands she held a large, yellow-bound book. Lucy was so engrossed in her reading she hadn't even heard Edmund approach, and there was a small smile playing on her lips. Edmund halted. He'd seen his sister's wide grins and sweet smiles often enough, but this gentle, curious curl of lips was something new. It was so strange, he mused, that one could spend years in another's company, become so intimately acquainted as to be able to finish each other's thoughts, and still be occasionally surprised by some aspect of their behavior or manner. He and Lucy had even come from the same womb, yet Edmund didn't know everything about her, or she about him. That train of thought was strangely unsettling, but before Edmund could follow it any further, another thing that had been bothering him about the picture made itself clear.

"How curious," he said, almost to himself, and Lucy jumped. As soon as she saw it was him who had disturbed her, she laughed, letting go of the book briefly to press her hand to her breast. The book folded closed on her lap.

"Edmund, you startled me so," she said gaily. "Did you come about our ride? I suppose that plan's all ruined now."

She looked dubiously at the window and the storm raging on its other side. A flash of lighting illuminated her face, making her eyes glint with a golden sheen for an instant.

"Yes, but never mind that," Edmund said. He reached down for the book in which Lucy had been so absorbed. Lucy's fingers tightened briefly on the cover, as if she were reluctant to let it go, but then retracted, and in a moment Edmund held the book in his hands. It was a heavy tome but still clearly meant to be carried around and read for pleasure, and it was bound in yellow silk. All the books in Cair Paravel's library had covers of plain brown cowhide, and even the ones embossed with gold ornaments or possessed of colourful dust jackets didn't come close to this book's garishness. Edmund turned it over. Right where the title ought to have been the cover was scuffed and all he could make out was that it had consisted of a single, long word. He opened it quickly. The first few pages were torn away. "Where on earth did you find this thing?"

"Susan had it. A gift from one of her suitors, no doubt," Lucy said flippantly. "She was a little busy when I asked to borrow it, so I thought I'd inquire about it later. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

That it was, somehow, despite the marred cover and missing pages. It had the feel of a book much older than it looked. Edmund let it open and ran the tips of his fingers across the thick, cream-colored paper. He started reading a sentence at random.

_...and the maiden ran through the woods, branches and brambles leaving red welts on her fair skin, the beast close on her heels in pursuit._

"What is it about?" he asked Lucy absent-mindedly, his hand following the path his mind had just finished, his fingers lingering on the last word.

Lucy fidgeted in the chair.

"Oh, it's just love stories," she answered, naturally enough. Edmund looked up at that, and Lucy looked him in the eyes. "As befits a gift from a suitor."

It was on the tip of Edmund’s tongue to ask if it contained anything improper, but if it didn't it would be him introducing a subject about which he never wished to talk with Lucy. He would just have to peruse the book himself later on. Still, it was strange.

"I find it quite surprising that a book of love stories would capture your interest."

"It's not an ordinary book of love stories," Lucy said. "Look, I'll show you."

She swung her legs off the armrest and sat up straight, tugging the book out of Edmund’s grasp, setting it back on her knees and leafing through it quickly. Edmund sat down on the armrest so he'd be able to see without craning his neck. Their shoulders pressed together but Lucy, still preoccupied with the book, didn't seem to notice she needed to budge over.

"Here," Lucy said triumphantly, pointing at a page about the halfway point. "I think this is the beginning. The stories are all out of order, but they seem to be connected."

She looked up at Edmund, her sweet face flushed with the pleasure of discovery. Then she frowned and bit her lip as if puzzled.

"Every story is about a different woman, but I think the man is always the same," Lucy told Edmund. "He's described in the exact same way, at least in his human form."

"Human form?"

"He keeps turning into different animals in the different stories. That's how he wins the ladies' hearts. In this one he's a swan, and in this one - a bumblebee. He's a bull in this one and this one, a bear here, and a quail here. I was just starting this one, where he's disguised as an eagle, and wooing a boy for once, I think. It's all very Narnian."

Edmund thought it didn't sound much like a book of love stories, exactly, and told Lucy as much.

"Oh, he's always earnest about his beloved, but he's always left alone in the end through no fault of his own," Lucy told Edmund with great certainty. "It's not clear why yet, but I'm sure that if I can follow the stories in the right order I'll find out."

She looked up at Edmund expectantly and suddenly he knew why Lucy, usually so indifferent to the chivalrous romances Susan favoured, was so enthralled now. Reading this book was like going on an adventure, and Lucy just had to follow it to the very end.

"It sounds fascinating," Edmund said, choosing his words with care. Lucy glowed at this show of approval. "I would very much like to know how the story ends myself. Would you mind if I took this and caught up with you so that we could find out the end together?"

"But I-" Lucy started. She looked terribly disappointed, and Edmund felt a brief pang of guilt, like every time he caused Lucy grief, no matter how indirectly he was responsible or how trivial the discomfort was. He squashed the feeling ruthlessly. Something about this book set his teeth on edge, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it before Lucy stumbled across something she had no business seeing. "All right. It would be marvelous to find out how it all ends together. Just don't take too long with it, Edmund, or I shall die of curiosity."

"I'll be done before you know it," Edmund promised, and gratefully kissed Lucy on the temple. She was the soul of generosity, really. Lucy bore the kiss and then stretched up to repay it with one of her own pressed to Edmund’s cheek, and then she was on her feet and making her exit.

"I look forward to it. And now I think I shall go and check if Mrs. Beaver is done with the plum jam, and if there isn't some left over after all the jars have been filled."

She made a curtsy which looked all the more graceful for being so casual, and Edmund rose to answer with a bow, tucking the suspicious book under his arm for later.

* * *

That night he read the book in his bed, sitting cross-legged on top of the covers with the curtains drawn closed and an oil lamp hanging from a safety hook overhead, so that even someone walking outside in the corridor wouldn't know he was awake.

The stories were jumbled and nothing was plainly stated, but they did seem to be following the same being. Far from a hero who searched tirelessly for love only to have it snatched from his fingertips, Edmund saw a selfish figure that brought strife to the objects of his fascination and quickly moved to the next one when the previous one was destroyed. His eyes grew dry and tired, but Edmund kept reading. He almost fancied he could see a sneering, impish face peeking through the pages, but it was all his mind playing tricks on him, he knew that. The hours stretched and soon he passed the point Lucy had come to.

He read on.

* * *

Peter was still off chasing werewolves by himself, Edmund was sleeping in again, the lazybones, and the bothersome rain was still pouring. Even Susan was tetchy this morning, owing to the fact the damp air added the tiniest frizz to the normally sleek sweep of her hair, so Lucy took her tea and scone to the portrait gallery instead of having them at the breakfast table.

The portrait gallery had been one of her favourite haunts for years. When she was younger she used to play hopscotch on the black and white floor tiles, and later on she'd loved the way the sun came in through the high western windows and threw long golden shadows across the floor that never quite reached the precious paintings before the castle staff came in and drew the heavy plush curtains closed. In the morning the gallery was ill-lit, less impressive, but Lucy liked it all the same. With its heavy wood paneling and multiple jutting sculpture stands and picture frames it exuded an air of mystery, so that as a child Lucy had liked to imagine some hidden beast or evildoer was hounding her footsteps, matching the sound of her slippers on the marble so she wouldn't suspect anything. It was pure fancy, of course, and even then she'd known that. As childish as it was, that game was one of the reasons Lucy was so fond of the place, even if she was a grown woman now.

Then a shadow at the end of the gallery moved, and Lucy was less certain she was alone.

"Hello?" she called out, expecting a servant or a courtier to make their presence known. No one answered. Quite unconsciously, Lucy's hand rested on the pommel of her dagger and her steps quickened.

She was halfway through the gallery when a hand reached out from one of the arched doorways leading to the weapons hall and tugged her inside. Lucy dropped the empty teacup and it shattered into a multitude of pieces. Lucy paid it no mind, drawing her dagger in a flash.

Edmund looked back at her calmly.

"By the Lion, Edmund, do you mean to make a habit out of alarming me," cried Lucy in exasperation, sheathing the dagger with fingers shaking slightly from unspent tension. "Was that you moving about in the gallery?"

"No. I was here when I heard your voice."

He retreated further into the room, and even by the lamplight in this windowless chamber Lucy could tell there was something wrong with Edmund. His eyes glittered in his pale, drawn face, and his hair was in disarray as if he'd repeatedly run his fingers through it. He had his dressing gown carelessly thrown over his sleeping clothes.

"Are you quite all right?" Lucy asked, instinctively closing the distance between them once again.

Edmund shook his head tersely and his lips thinned out, and Lucy was at a loss whether he meant that he wasn't fine or that he really didn't want to be questioned about it. Either way it had been an useless query. Edmund was demonstrably not all right and what Lucy wanted to know was what was wrong and how she could help to fix it.

But before she could question him further Edmund took her by the hand.

"Lu," he said, and Lucy was struck by how much her name sounded like a plea coming from Edmund's lips at that moment. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I do," Lucy said in a rush, squeezing back Edmund's hand in an instinctive bid to reassure him. She had never seen him like this, and this peculiar mood coupled with the earlier rush of unreleased tension when he'd grabbed her kept Lucy on edge. "What is this all about?"

"I was looking for a weapon that could-- But there's no such thing here, I can't trust that any weapon could work against-- Not when he created--," Edmund said, rambling now.

Lucy tugged her hand out of his grasp and caught his face, made him look at her. Edmund blinked down at her several times in rapid succession, then visibly collected himself.

"I wish you would tell me what is bothering you," Lucy murmured. Their eyes locked together.

"I will," Edmund promised. "But I need to find a solution first."

Lucy made a sour face and let go of him.

"What help would I be then?" she asked, and that, finally, caused Edmund to look fully like himself and adopt the long-suffering air of an elder brother.

"The solution would involve you in some way, obviously," he answered, archly, and in a moment they were both laughing, Lucy freely, and Edmund with his customary restraint but also with genuine mirth.

Really, it couldn’t be anything too horrible, Lucy thought. Nothing she, Peter, Susan and above all, Aslan, couldn't solve for Edmund.

* * *

But then days passed without Edmund broaching the subject again, then weeks, then months. Edmund seemed a little more serious than before, more prone to spend his time in the library and order even more titles from the travelling booksellers and antiquarians, but Lucy wasn't too worried about him. In fact she had been downright cross with him when she found out he'd knocked a lamp over the yellow book and had to quickly throw it in the fireplace when it caught fire.

"Couldn't you have thrown a blanket over it instead?" she'd asked him, incredulous that such a marvelous object could have been burned to cinders. Edmund simply shrugged, not looking nearly as contrite as he should have, in Lucy's opinion.

Since then Lucy had tried and failed to procure another copy. Certainly, the fact that she didn't know the title presented an obstacle, but still, it was incredible that no one had heard of such a distinct tome.

One could almost believe it had been the only copy.

* * *

Each evening Lucy had her bath in an enormous claw-footed monstrosity of a bathtub, so large that it could only be placed in the empty space between the fireplace and her bed, wedged between a couple of armchairs and her full-length, gold-framed mirror. She would lounge in it after wringing her hair dry, waiting for the water to turn tepid and thinking whatever random, stray thoughts made their way into her mind. Occasionally she would forget it was there and would catch her reflection in the mirror and feel strangely caught, like she'd been seen doing something wrong. She always meant to ask the servants to place the bath so she would be with her back to the mirror, but she always somehow forgot.

Only this night Lucy didn't have the opportunity to inconvenience her mirror self, since almost as soon as the maid exited, Edmund came in.

He stood for a moment in the doorway, apparently in no hurry to enter. Lucy noticed him immediately, and though she was quite naked and the visit was most unexpected she somehow didn't feel alarmed. There were enough bubbles in the bathtub to satisfy even the strictest demands of propriety, she felt, and in any case Edmund was her brother.

"Yes?" she said, and Edmund moved to close the door. He was in his undertunic, his collar open and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Lucy wondered if tonight was the night the mystery of her brother's recent behavior would be revealed.

Edmund crossed the short space from the door to the bathtub without hurrying, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Lucy watched his progress as he went round the tub and crouched by the side of it, and took Lucy's hand from where it was resting on the edge, just like he had all those months ago.

Except this time he turned it over without hesitation, and pressed a kiss to Lucy's palm, his eyes never leaving her face. Lucy laughed, a little surprised but happy enough with the tenderness. Edmund was normally fairly reserved, and even simple embraces had to be coaxed from him. But then this same Edmund kissed Lucy's wrist, and his lips opened enough for her to feel a hint of teeth and the warm swipe of his tongue.

"Edmund," asked Lucy, in a voice that had taken on the serene quality of dreaming. "What on earth are you doing?"

And Edmund murmured "what I must", and "forgive me", and "this is the only way" against Lucy's skin, further and further up her arm, sounding like he didn't know whom he was trying to convince.

It was all a bit of a blur after that. Edmund kissed Lucy on the mouth and it was nothing like the two times she had been kissed before, dry and courteous. She clutched at his shirt and worried, inanely, that she was going to get his clothes wet. In the mirror, two strangers were locked together in an embrace. The woman's wet hair was the colour of tarnished gold, and the man's mouth was almost unnaturally red where it latched onto her neck, making her arch out of the water as his arms closed around her.

Lucy found herself sitting on the edge, Edmund kneeling at her feet as if waiting to be knighted, but it was the wide-eyed stranger in the mirror who clutched at the metal sides of the bathtub as her lover's head lowered between her thighs, it was the stranger who cried out and shook with pleasure.

It was the stranger who ended up captured between the castle wall and Edmund's cooler, harder, clothed body. She was the one standing on the toes of one foot, her other leg wrapped around Edmund's hip to keep him close, and she was the one so wet and slick inside he slipped out every now and then. She tugged on his tunic in frustration until it ripped at the neck and Edmund stripped it off, and she watched the play of muscles on Edmund's back in the mirror as he thrust and not, and not-

Only it was Lucy in the end, and Edmund, and they were themselves and it still felt just as good as it had before, and Lucy was so glad she was sharing this adventure with her brother.

* * *

Edmund slept in Lucy's bed. It seemed like the worst sort of cowardice and abandonment not to. They woke up together when Lucy's maid drew back the bed curtains, screamed and ran out of the room. Edmund reflected it might have been a good idea to at least draw the covers over them both.

When he turned to look at Lucy, she was sitting up with her knees drawn tightly to her chest, her legs covering everything that might have needed covering. She looked a little shy, but thankfully not ashamed or distressed in the least.

"Do you know, I did read your yellow book till the end before it burned," Edmund said, and he couldn't tell on pain of death which one of them was more surprised by his words.

Lucy's forehead wrinkled in confusion. Edmund wanted to kiss it smooth again.

"Then why didn't you say anything? How does it end?"

Edmund leaned forward, and chanced resting his forehead on Lucy's shoulder. After no more than a moment's hesitation her arm uncurled from around her own shins to came around Edmund's back instead.

"The one who could transform into any animal he chose loved countless times. Until he spied a little girl, and was bewitched for a final time. The shape changer didn't want to frighten one so young but neither did he want to let her go. So he created a wondrous... palace for her, full of so many marvels she would ever be occupied and never realise she was a prisoner. Only as the girl grew, the shape changer found he enjoyed watching her from afar so much that he kept postponing the day he was to reveal himself to her."

"What happened then?" asked Lucy softly. She had rested her head lightly on top of Edmund's as he talked.

"I don't know. The last story was unfinished," Edmund answered. "What do you think happened?"

Lucy was silent for a few endless, excruciating moments, and then she said:

"I think, Sir, that you never give me the answers I want when I want them."

Edmund smiled grimly against his sister's collarbone. He was thankful, at least, that Lucy hadn't asked what shape the storybook hero had assumed for this final tale.

"Madam," he confessed, "I live in contrition."

* * *

There were no scandalous rumours to counteract, and by the looks Mrs. Beaver kept giving him Edmund concluded that Lucy's maid had run straight to her and been convinced to keep her mouth shut.

He would almost have felt relieved, if Mrs. Beaver hadn't stopped him in an empty corridor and told him, with great, resigned sympathy, that "the Gods always get their due".

Edmund avoided Lucy, enduring somehow her increasingly hurt glances. He waited for retribution, whatever form it took.

Then, one day, just as he was starting to think he might get away with it, or, horribly, that he might have gotten it wrong, Tumnus the Faun came with news that a white stag had been sighted in the forest.

Edmund and his siblings organised a hunt, of course, during which they called each other "royal brother" and "fair sister" entirely without bursting into laughter, and found the lantern post and then followed the path of adventure, as they always did.

And as soon as they burst out of the wardrobe and Edmund looked at his youngest sister, his little girl of a sister with rosy cheeks and maidenhead intact, Edmund knew he had been mistaken.

He shouldn't have waited for retribution from someone who had the power to erase the transgression itself.

He wondered how long it would be until they didn't even remember it.


End file.
